


Simple as A, B, C

by FoxGlade



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (but mostly fluff), M/M, Sam and Gabriel are so done with their brothers' shit, fluff but also not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxGlade/pseuds/FoxGlade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Dean and Castiel are stuck in a self-made Shakespearean romantic tragedy, Sam realises that some things really are just that easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simple as A, B, C

**Author's Note:**

> This started off funny and then went all soft around the middle. Alack, the dangers of writing at night.

There are some things in life Sam knows for certain; not many, but some. The sun rises in the east. Werewolves get put down by a silver bullet. No matter the distance (physical and emotional) between them, Dean is and always be an overprotective brother. If something seems too easy, then something is wrong.

The last one’s been bugging him for just over a week now.

“Come on, Sammy,” Gabriel groans from his perch on the chair over by the door of the motel room. Dean’s out grabbing ice and Sam’s trying to concentrate on the local tabloid he’s got on the table in front of him. “Some things just are easy. Why can’t this be one of them?”

“Because it’s me,” Sam replies, not looking up. He’s re-read the same line three times now, and Dean’s going to be back any minute. “Because this is our lives, and nothing is ever easy.”

“It can be.” Sam finally looks up in defeat. Gabriel is staring at him, lollypop sticking out of the corner of his mouth. His eyebrows wriggle in a way that is somehow appealing.

“No, it really can’t,” Sam says firmly. He looks back down at the paper to find it’s disappeared and in its place is a pile of Snickers bars. “That isn’t funny!” he shouts, but Gabriel is long gone, without even the decency to make a noise. There’s a rattle at the door and a second later Dean’s walking inside.

“What’s not funny?” he asks vaguely, throwing a soda to Sam. He catches it and throws a Snickers bar in return. Dean snatches it out of the air and stares at it before giving Sam the stink eye.

“Nothing,” he grumbles.

\---

Another day, another hunt. Sam’s lying in the backseat of the Impala, hand over his eyes, trying to keep the contents of his stomach where they belong; the combination of the concussion he’d gotten when the ghost had thrown him against the steel pylon and the smell of the river mud they’d had to trudge through was making it difficult.

The only noises he can hear are the purring of the Impala’s engine and Dean’s heavy breathing. Dean was injured too, but only a shallow gash across the ribs – he’d be fine with a couple of Band-Aids, no need for even stitches. It still hurts like a bitch though, Sam guessed. He grits his teeth as they pass over another bump that the headlights didn’t pick up.

“Sorry, Sammy,” Dean says gruffly. There’s a hand on his knee for a few seconds before it’s gone again. “Motel in ten minutes.”

Sam nods and hisses at the sudden resurgence of pain in his head. He can only hope that Dean gets them back in one piece, driving over the speed limit as he is.

The pain in his head was such that he doesn’t even hear the flutter of wings, just feels it when an archangel appeared on his thighs. “Heya, Winchesters,” Gabriel smirks. The car swerves a little before Dean rights it.

“Dammit, what is wrong with you feathery bastards? Popping in and out of my baby while I’m driving like it’s a friggin’ tram,” Dean growls. Sam groans at the noise.

“Save it, Deano.” His tone is hard, something Sam hadn’t heard since they’d left him in a ring of holy oil in an empty warehouse months ago. But his volume is low and Sam is grateful. “I’m here to help.”

Gabriel shifts and Sam feels two cool fingertips press against his forehead. In an instant the pain is gone from his head, and the nausea in his stomach is already going down. When he opens his eyes, Gabriel’s straddling his waist and leaning over him, grinning. It’s not an altogether unwelcome sight.

“You back with us, kiddo?” he asks. Sam nods and awkwardly tries to wriggle himself into a seated position. He tries to shove Gabriel off his lap but the archangel cheerfully refuses to budge. After a moments’ struggle Sam leans back uncomfortably against the door, half reclined. 

“You keep your hands to yourself back there,” Dean says, eyes narrowing in the rear view mirror. Gabriel waggles his fingers at him.

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam retorts cleverly, trying to keep the embarrassment out of his voice. He fails. He knows he’s blushing wildly, like he hasn’t since his first date with Jess. Gabriel laughs and pats him on the cheek.

“Just checking in,” he tells them both, winking at Sam. “I’ll let you both get back to it.” He hesitates, then leans over further onto Sam and murmurs just loud enough for Dean to hear, “See you tonight, kiddo.”

He vanishes without a sound and leaves Dean yelling _“What does that mean, Sam?!”_ and all Sam can do is laugh.

\---

Dean and Castiel are staring at each other again. At first, when they would have these moments, Sam would feel a squirm of embarrassment and maybe a bit of fondness; embarrassment at witnessing these private, intimate moments between his brother and the angel who’d saved him, and just a little affection at the sight of Dean finally trusting and believing someone who wasn’t Sam or their Dad.

Now it just pisses him off.

He’d hung around awkwardly in the background for the first few minutes of their conversation ( _“Cas, you mean so much to me that I’m going to pretend to hate you and not want you to stay with me forever and ever.” “Dean, obviously I am in love with you, can you not tell by how much lower and gruffer my voice is than yours,”_ Sam mocks viciously in his head. Except less vicious, more pathetic) just to see if anything would be said actually pertaining to the job they were halfway through. It had quickly become obvious it was turning into another round of “Two Conversations One Dialogue”, and now he’s just leaning against the Impala, staring at the sky and waiting for one of them to walk away or both of them to start making out. He’s got a pretty good idea of which one is more likely.

There’s a flutter of wings behind him and Gabriel’s lying on the roof of the Impala with popcorn. “Dean’ll kill you if he catches you on his car,” Sam says. He’s no longer surprised by Gabriel’s increasingly frequent visits. Gabriel just shrugs.

“What’s he gonna do, trap me in holy oil?” he says. “I just came to catch the show,” he adds, gesturing to the man in question. Sam looks over, and – yes, Dean and Castiel are still staring at each other. “They goin’ for a world record, or what?” 

“To be honest, I’m trying not to think about it,” Sam says. He can see Gabriel pout out of the corner of his eye.

“What, my little bro ain’t good enough for your big bro?” Gabriel asks, all wounded feelings. Sam rolls his eyes.

“They’re perfect for each other, that’s the problem.” He waves a hand at the pair, who’ve finally broken eye contact to resume conversation. “They’ve invented this whole tragic situation for themselves without even realizing that it’s unnecessary. It’s like they don’t even realize that this whole thing is almost-,” he breaks off.

“Too easy?” Gabriel says softly. Sam watches him side-on but he doesn’t continue, just eats a handful of popcorn and wipes his fingers on his shirt.

They watch their brothers talk in silence, Sam reaching out to steal some popcorn every now and then. When Cas disappears suddenly and Dean starts to head back, Sam feels the air bend next to his head and knows Gabriel is gone, once again without a sound.

“You alright?” he asks Dean when he reaches the car. Dean gives him an annoyed look.

“Course I am,” he mutters, getting into the driver’s seat and slamming the door behind him. Sam stays outside a moment longer, just looking at the stars. 

“You getting in, Samantha, or do you need a little more time to finish composing your poetry verse?” Dean yells from inside the car. Sam gets in without a word, and smiles.

\---

It’s past midnight and Sam’s wearily fishing in his pockets for enough coins for two sodas from the machine outside their motel room. They’re leaving in the morning, having stayed for a day after the hunt was completed just in case. He hasn’t seen Gabriel in five days.

He decides he has enough for one can at least, and listens to the plinking of the coins going into the machine, then the buzz of moving cogs. His head drops against the machine’s surface and he regrets getting the drink in the first place. Closing his eyes, he shuffles around so he can put his back to the machine and slide down until he’s sitting sprawled on the ground.

“You gonna pull up some sidewalk?” he asks the air above him, and isn’t surprised when he’s answered by the fluttering of feathers.

Gabriel sits next to him in silence, their sides squeezed together even though there’s more than enough room for the both of them. Sam tilts his head back, eyes still closed, and waits.

“We could be real easy, Sam,” Gabriel says. Sam feels a small hand creep into his own, and squeezes it. “Ain’t nothin’ to it, really.”

“Right,” Sam says, “nothing difficult about a human and an archangel.”

“Well, maybe a little. But you’d be surprised.”

Sam breathes in the cool night air for a minute, smiling at the smell of burnt sugar that lingers around Gabriel. “Yeah,” he says eventually. “Guess I would.”

Gabriel shifts next to him, and then a hand is on his cheek, turning his head. Sam opens his eyes and finally looks at Gabriel; he’s without his customary smirk, and in the darkness the gold of his eyes is subdued. He looks vulnerable, which is stupid, seeing as a millennia-old archangel is probably incapable of being vulnerable, but it’s there anyway. Sam finds he can’t stop himself from leaning in and kissing him.

It’s soft, and sweet, just a dry press of closed lips. Nothing world changing, nothing dramatic as would befit some sort of Shakespearean romantic tragedy. It’s perfect. Neither pulls back, but rather they lean their foreheads together and breathe.

“So,” Sam says against Gabriel’s lips. “Easy as that, right?”

“Right,” Gabriel replies, and Sam can feel a smirk forming under his lips. “Easy as that, kiddo.”

Sam laughs and kisses the smirk away, then keeps kissing him until Dean comes out looking for him and yelps loud enough to wake up everyone in the motel when he trips over them. And it really is as easy as that.


End file.
